


Weary Are Our Bones

by BrushDog



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Omnic Crisis, Post-Crisis, Post-Fall of Overwatch, SEP era, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrushDog/pseuds/BrushDog
Summary: Five snapshots of two soldiers through the years and the ways they find themselves pulling together and apart.





	Weary Are Our Bones

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to [The Skin of Our Teeth R76 Zine](https://r76zine.tumblr.com/). Sadly preorders are done but I wanted to share the piece for those who didn't have a chance to get the zine!
> 
> Beta props go to [Heron](http://heronfoot.tumblr.com/), [volokh](http://volokh.tumblr.com/), and [AJ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian)

"God I'm tired," Morrison groans, his voice grating.

Gabriel rolls his eyes in exasperation. They're all fucking tired. For three weeks they've been injected with more questionable substances than Gabriel can count and forced to choke down hundreds more. Endurance tests are daily, usually followed by a trip to the porcelain god. A hundred of America's best and brightest have already been cut by a dozen through dropouts or worse.

Gabriel didn't learn their names, but it still leaves a bitter taste in his throat. Their sacrifices show how much is at stake. If this doesn't work, there might not be an America left. Not after Silicon Valley. Not after the siege of LA.

Then there's Morrison. Hair as yellow as Indiana cornfields and eyes blue as country skies. He glows with the effortless charisma of a privileged life, smiles with the eagerness of a kid who's never seen battle. Gabriel didn't like him at first and he doesn't like him now.

He's Gabriel's opposite, yet insists on following Gabriel like sunlight chases shadows, warming despite every cold shoulder Gabriel throws his way.

Gabriel glares at him, finds his gaze caught on the line of Morrison's arm thrown across his face, the stripe of skin exposed by his shirt riding up over his toned stomach.

Gabriel's cheeks flare with heat and he jerks his gaze away.

"Go to sleep, Morrison," he grunts, flicking the lights off.

\---

"I'm beat," Jack says, rifle against his shoulder, head against the damp wood of their makeshift shelter.

They're three days into a mission in Stuttgart, using the dense woodland of the Black Forest as cover to infiltrate and disable the nearby Omnium. A few miles away, Germany's Crusader units hold the front against waves of omnic attackers.

Save for for the echoes of gunfire and explosions in the distance, the occasional mechanical whir of a recon unit overhead, it's almost peaceful.

"Like camping," Jack said when they first set out, leaving Gabriel shaking his head in amusement.

"I thought you weren't in Boy Scouts?"

"You don't need to be a Boy Scout to go camping, Gabe," Jack replied before regaling Gabriel with tales from a decade of Morrison family road trips.

The stories passed the time. Gabriel loves the sound of Jack's voice. It's easier to let his rattled nerves rest with Jack's easygoing nature.

Hunkered down together under the canopy of trees, he thinks they might even make it out of the Crisis alive. It's all right. As long as he's got Jack, it's all right.

"Rest up," Gabriel says, giving Jack's shoulder a tight squeeze. "I'll take first watch."

\---

"I'm exhausted, Gabe," Jack sighs, half-heartedly pushing against Gabriel's shoulder.

Geneva's city lights filter through their apartment window. It's three months since Overwatch was established, since Jack's promotion to Strike Commander, yet the high of victory following the end of the Crisis is a wave that Gabriel could ride for years to come.

He hums, winding his arms around Jack's body, palms pressed over his chest, lips and nose tucked against his neck.

"Worn out? Thought you loved playing pretty for the press."

The promotion was their compromise. Gabriel never performed well in public. Blackwatch suited him. Effortlessly charismatic, Jack was perfect for the spotlight, perfect for Strike Commander.

Jack's chest shakes with laughter, his body twisting to face Gabriel.

"It's more than that," he says, his lips pressing to Gabriel's. "You know I don't go down easy."

Gabriel grins. His palms press Jack against the bed, his tongue working over his throat.

"You're not the one going down tonight," he hums, reveling in Jack's touch against his head, across his back. Gabriel is indulgent, driving Jack crazy with his languid worship. There's no words between them, not until Gabriel's lips find the hollow of Jack's hip and he looks up to catch the eager glint in Jack's eyes shining in the darkness.

"Still tired, Jack?"

\---

"I'm getting tired of repeating myself, Gabe," Jack bites out through clenched teeth.

"Funny," Gabriel snaps back, "I could say the same thing."

Jack's age shows in the harsh halogen overhead. Three years have passed since Gerard's death, since everything started to crumble around them.

"Blackwatch is shut down. That's an order straight from the Director. I only kept you on because I trusted you--"

Gabriel barks out a laugh that raises Jack's hackles.

"That's rich coming from you," he grits out. "Trust? You haven't listened to me once in the past six months. The entire organization's at risk, Jack, if we don't get to the bottom of it--"

The peal of a klaxon cuts him short, alarms painting Jack's office in a blinding red.

"Athena, status!" Jack shouts at the AI.

"Hostiles have been identified within Headquarters. Displaying their locations now."

A map flares to life over Jack's desk, covered in angry red dots like a swarm of locusts descending on all they've sown.

"How did they--nevermind, order all agents to neutralize the threat, ASAP!" Jack snaps, turning to shoot Gabriel a stern look. "I'll deal with you later."

"This isn't over, Strike Commander," Gabriel spits back, venom spiked beneath his words.

\---

"Gabe, please," Soldier: 76 begs.

Reaper shudders at the sound of the name on the lips of his rival, friend, lover, commanding officer. It's a name that's no longer his, that sits wrong on his shoulders.

A lifetime together, five years since the blast that ripped them apart. They're both restless men, caught up in chasing their vengeance, each other. Dead set, unyielding, until the end.

Yet here, in a dank corridor reeking of blood and ozone, gunpowder and sweat, Jack lays an offer before him.

A truce, a plea for reconciliation.

Hope sticks in Reaper's throat like a bitter pill, coating his tongue with a nostalgic sticky sweetness. He lets it linger, his breath rattling over it with a shaking exhale, before he swallows it whole.

"I'm tired, Jack."


End file.
